It’s been quite a while since I burst into tears for no apparent reason, but tonight I did. Sometimes that’s what depression is like – it hits you out of nowhere. And sometimes it’s just this thing in the background that is on your radar, but no one else has any awareness of it in your life.

Depending on how it affects you (and it does affect people differently) it can really get in the way of ‘normal life’. It can be hard to hold down a job, for example, when things are really bad.

I’m lucky that I work for myself and can arrange my own schedule, to compensate for and work around those days where I’m just not up to it.

Writing in itself usually helps me feel better, but some days it doesn’t work and I can’t compose a coherent tweet let alone work on anything more substantial.

I wanted to write a post for mental health week, but this isn’t the one I imagined. I guess I wanted to be more factual. To come across more professional. But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? My writing is an extension of who I am. And today who I am is a little bit of a mess. Not everything has to be perfect, I remind myself. In fact, some things are probably better being raw. So this is it: my personal experience of being a full time writer with mental health issues. It’s not profound, or polished, but it’s here. I encourage you to tell your story, also. No matter what it looks like.

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